


The Young Must Be Our Sacrifice

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Being Human (US/Canada)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bishop’s voice is low and dark, promising dark and wicked things, things he’s absolutely positive he does not want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Young Must Be Our Sacrifice

The hand at his throat tightens, and Josh's eyes dart every which way, lighting on everything except the vampire pinning him to the alley wall.

"Josh, I presume." Bishop's voice is pleasant, as though the conversation were taking place in a well-lit parlor, over a nice cup of tea, instead of in a dark back-alley. _Where no one would be able to hear him scream_ , Josh's mind supplies helpfully.

"Bishop," he spits, choking in a ragged breath.

Bishop inclines his head. "I've heard a lot about you, Josh," he says, voice still even. "Reckless and fool-hardy...those are new ones. What were you hoping to achieve here?"

Josh doesn't answer. If he's being honest, he's still not exactly sure what he'd planned to do, but the blood had been pounding in his veins, shouting at him to do _something_ , instead of hiding in his house like a frightened dog. "I want you to stay away from Aidan," he says instead, and Bishop chuckles in response.

"I'm afraid you don't seem to have any leverage," he says. "And you'd need an awful lot to convince me to stay away from something I like so _very_ much." He tilts his head appraisingly. "You're _adorably_ loyal, though. I can see why Aidan likes you so much."

And then he's moving in closer, dangerously close, one hand straying up into Josh's hair, and he can feel his heartbeat starting to race. "You make such a good pet," Bishop murmurs. "He's got you all tame and domesticated, hasn't he? But you know there's still a beast in there, struggling to break free."

"I have it _under control_ ," Josh snaps, not sure why he's defending himself to this creature.

"Oh, of course you do," Bishop says, tone soothing. "Aidan's tamed you, hasn't he? Sharing his life of repression and self-hatred. I'm sure it's a very pleasant way to live."

"I have no idea what you're trying to get at," Josh says, twitching his head to try and shake off Bishop's hand, which only tightens in his hair in response. He stills, and Bishop smiles, his hand stroking gently through Josh's hair.

"I'm saying," he says, "that you intrigue me. You are a remarkable creature, Josh," which is...frankly, not all that reassuring. "You're curious. You have an insatiable appetite for knowledge, don't you? You're not like others of your kind."

Josh is kind of tempted to call racism on that one.

"Scavengers and lesser creatures," Bishop continues, a note of scorn in his voice. "Anyone else, they'd be a cowering wreck, begging for their life. But not you. What is it about you?" He tilts his head, leans in and—God help him— _inhales_. "You're afraid, but there's something else. You're curious, you're fascinated."

"By you?" Josh asks, voice tight.

Bishop's mouth curves up, and he nods. "You're attracted to power, and to things you don't understand. I'm all of that."

His mouth is dry and his palms are sweating, his heart racing out of control. "Let me go," he says, carefully.

Bishop hums, seeming to consider it. "You know, that curiosity is going to get you into trouble one day," he says. "One day, you'll be cornered in an alleyway, a predator holding you down. And he won't be as gentle with you as I am." His gaze strays down, runs up and down Josh's body. "I could be much rougher than this, you know. But, werewolf, I suppose you're used to that. Maybe you even like it rough."

Josh shrinks back into the wall, as much as he's able. Bishop's voice is low and dark, promising dark and wicked things, things he's absolutely positive he does not want.

"Like I said," he murmurs, and his breath is hot against the side of Josh's face. "You make _such_ a good pet. I'm sure you'd be very fun to play with." One hand settles at his hip, fingers edging up under his shirt, brushing against the skin of his waist. He thinks he might be on the verge of a heart attack. "And perhaps you need to be taught a lesson about chasing after things that could kill you."

He could run for it. There's nothing holding here besides the gentle pressure of Bishop's fingers in his hair and at his waist. He might even be able to make it. 

And then Bishop grinds his hips against Josh's, lightly, and he can feel himself growing hard, to his eternal mortification.

"Let me go," he says again, chokes it out, and this time he's ignored entirely. The hand at his hip slides over, undoing the button on his jeans with patient care, pulling his zipper down, tugging his jeans down his hips. Bishop caresses him through his underwear, a light, barely-there pressure, and he groans, thrusting reflexively.

"Well-trained," Bishop breathes, lips against Josh's face, and he feels his cheeks burn. And then the pressure is back, a gentle friction that's not even close to enough, teasing and promising the hint of something better, something more, if he can just—

"Aidan's got you so domesticated," Bishop muses, "but I wonder if I could do him one better. I want to hear you say _please_ ," and his voice goes dark and old on that last note.

Josh grits his teeth, but there's a sick anticipation in his stomach, and as much as he tries to fight against the _unnatural, wrong_ of it all, he's thrusting again, pushing his hips against Bishop's palm. Even as he does, the hand retreats, tugging his shirt up and splaying across his stomach, and he squirms against it.

"I can do this all night, Josh," Bishop says, tone gently chiding. "I've been around for a very long time, and I have infinite patience. I want to hear you say it."

The hand in his hair is soft and soothing, stroking along his scalp, a thumb rubbing little circles against his forehead. It's an unfair parody of affection, but he leans into it anyway, breathing going shallow as Bishop's other hand snakes its way up under his shirt, its weight still light and delicate. "Say it."

"Please," he groans, hating himself for it, and the reaction is instant, Bishop's hand dropping back down to Josh's dick, and the friction is impossibly good this time. Cool fingers hook in the waistband of his underpants, drawing them down, and Bishop's hand wraps around the base of his cock, a long, slow pull that leaves him gasping.

"Watch," Bishop orders, the hand in his hair tilting his head down, and he keeps his eyes open, as much as he wants to squeeze them shut, pretend this is just a dream, that his life hasn't just taken a sharp dive off the cliff of Fuck No. His breath is coming in little gasps now, and Bishop's lips are against his jaw, teeth just grazing against his skin.

He jerks, comes with a long, low groan, sticky and white against Bishop's hand. Bishop eyes the mess briefly, before wiping it off delicately on Josh's shirt. The hand is still in his hair, still stroking in a calming sort of way, and his face heats up when he realizes that Bishop is _petting_ him.

"Tell Aidan," Bishop says, "that he is _my_ fledgling. And I _will_ bring him back, even if I have to take in his...strays." He scratches Josh absently behind the ear. "Tell him that."


End file.
